


Over Tea

by LordNesquik



Series: Night Reading [4]
Category: Nocturnal - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordNesquik/pseuds/LordNesquik
Summary: Two stories in cafes: One from long before, and another from the present.
Series: Night Reading [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795237





	1. Reminisce

A young Ezeki Marton sighed as he slumped into the unstable chair in his workplace’s spare kitchen. The room was small, filled with a counter, tiny coal oven, and cabinets filled neatly with ingredients for the café. Wooden trimmings lined the faded-red walls.

He adjusted in his seat slightly, trying to shake his fatigue. The glass pen in his paw shook gently. Looking down, he realized he was rocking it, and he made a conscious effort to stop.

With a deep breath, he stood up from the table, pushing himself away from the still-blank parchment he’d set on it. It had been a year since Ezeki and Kitchi first saw one another. He wouldn't be able to see Kitchi that night, but he still wanted to leave a token of his appreciation. Despite this, the words weren’t coming to him yet, and he allowed himself to spare a moment and wait for them.

Ezeki’s verdant eyes settled upon the kitchen’s propped-open window. It was the first opening that Kitchi ever used to sneak into the pantry. He remembered hearing something move through the window, and assuming it was a rodent, he quickly began to look through the cabinets.

He found nothing in the pantry, but after he looked through the rest of the café, he returned to see a Verling boy scrambling through the pantry, a paw full of stale bread.

At the time, Kitchi was somewhat wiry, his deep blue eyes contrasting against his universally rust-red fur. The way he looked stirred a feeling of guilt in the pit of Ezeki’s stomach. His parents had taught him to be merciful, and the Verling seemed in need.

“Can I help you?” Ezeki remembered quietly asking. The Verling had jumped in fear, tossing the bread back before transforming into a shadow once more. Ezeki blinked, thinking he might’ve gone mad, but his mouth kept talking for him.

“It’s okay, you can have it,” he’d continued. “I was about to throw out all of that bread anyway. It’s still good, even if a little stale.”

The shadow had frozen for a moment before slowly reforming to the Verling Ezeki had seen before. He timidly grabbed the rest of the loaves while keeping an eye on Ezeki.

As soon as the Verling’s small burlap sack was full, he moved to leave, but Ezeki spoke up. He promised to give away the day’s leftovers from the café anytime he showed up. The Verling nodded anxiously and slipped out the window without a sound.

From that day on, Ezeki left it ajar, and the Verling came back every night. On their third meeting, Ezeki convinced him to talk for a moment, and he took the opportunity to ask for his name.

“Kitchi,” he had answered, his voice light and warm. The memory brought a smile to Ezeki’s face.

“I like that name,” he’d responded. “Mine is Ezeki Marton. Do you have a last name?”

“I don’t remember one.”

Ezeki blinked himself out of his reminiscence. Despite being alone in the pantry, the memories still rang with flawless clarity in his mind. From that night onwards, they had taken to talking every night that Kitchi came around. He tried to encourage Kitchi to talk about himself, but Ezeki still ended up doing most of the talking.

Regardless, Kitchi seemed intent to listen. Some nights, Ezeki could even convince him to share a tea, and soon this too became part of their tradition. It helped that Ezeki worked nearly every late shift. He’d once disliked being stuck after hours, but the idea of talking to Kitchi made it something to look forward to.

He began to appreciate every sparse detail Kitchi gave about himself. He was Ezeki’s age, and though his formal education was lackluster, he was still exceedingly sharp and clever. Most of his wit went not to his tongue, as Ezeki’s did, but to his arms, paws, and legs.

Ezeki’s eyes turned to the dusty counter where Kitchi would often sit while they talked.

“What do you like to do?” Kitchi had asked one night, taking a bite out of a spare pastry.  
“Well, I spend most of my time working,” Ezeki had answered. “It doesn’t hold my attention, though. I like hearing the rumors that come through the café, especially about criminals and investigators.”

Kitchi looked downwards, a glum expression on his face. When Ezeki asked what had happened, he looked up.

“Investigators scare me,” he’d said. “What if one of them catches me, and I don’t get to come here anymore?”

Ezeki had opened his mouth to talk, but his words had caught on a lump in his throat that he hadn’t noticed was there. He had looked down to see his paws vibrating nervously, though he was sure they’d been still a moment ago.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself before responding.

“No investigator would spend their time catching someone like you,” he’d reassured Kitchi with a smile. “They look for vile individuals who hurt others to get what they want, not well-mannered children who put old bread to good use,” he’d laughed.

After a moment, Kitchi returned his smile and seeing it made the feeling of dread that had overwhelmed Ezeki wash away.

He looked down from the still-empty shelf. From that night onwards, he’d spent a great many sleepless nights thinking about the emotions he had felt then. In the meantime, he kept trying to meet Kitchi at night, though his lack of rest was difficult to hide.

Ezeki turned his head around to look at the rickety chair at the small pantry table. He remembered falling asleep in it one night, waiting for Kitchi. As he entered the pantry, Kitchi gently woke Ezeki by nudging his shoulder. It worked, but he kept his eyes closed for a moment so that Kitchi’s paw continued to gently rock him.

In the middle of these important quandaries, Ezeki was fortunate enough to learn more about Kitchi. They shared an interest in food, with Kitchi enjoying the various pastries and sides that were occasionally leftovers and otherwise fated for the garbage.

“What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?” Kitchi had once curiously asked over a mug of tea.

“Well,” Ezeki had replied with some consideration, “I love my mother’s cornbread recipe. It’s layered with all sorts of ingredients & spices.”

“That sounds delicious,” Kitchi had said with a yawn. Ezeki smiled.

“I can try and bring a little spare the next time she makes some,” he’d offered. Kitchi grinned sheepishly.

“Only if you want to,” he’d hedged.

“Of course!” Ezeki had agreed, with a little more enthusiasm than he would’ve liked.

Removing himself from that memory, Ezeki looked up from the chair. Kitchi had enjoyed the cornbread, and he was sure to save a slice for him every time his mother made some.

Ezeki looked at the pantry’s counter again, remembering another night Kitchi and Ezeki had spent together. He had stood up to grab a pastry he’d tucked away in a cabinet, but his leg caught on his chair, sending him hurtling towards the ground.

He supposed the romantic scene would’ve been for Kitchi to swoop in and catch him or break his fall. In truth, Ezeki slammed his snout against the counter and landed on his side. As blood began to trickle from his nose, Kitchi moved to stand over him.

“Are you okay?” he had swiftly asked. “I’m sorry, I let my guard down in here, I should’ve –”

“I’m alright, just a little scratched,” Ezeki had interrupted. “Nothing’s broken.”

Kitchi sighed in relief and offered a paw, which Ezeki took.

He shook himself from his reminiscence again. What Kitchi said that night stuck in Ezeki’s consciousness as much now as it had then.

Kitchi had let his guard down in there. Kitchi had let his guard down around him.

Ezeki thought about those words all night. The feeling they gave him was enough for him to realize the truth about his emotions for Kitchi – or, perhaps, accept what he already knew. Ezeki still wasn’t sure which.

Despite this self-acceptance, a nagging at the edge of Ezeki’s consciousness had prevented him from confessing his feelings. Kitchi was an orphan. He’d found a locked & abandoned cellar with a cot he could sleep safely in, but his food supply was unsteady. Ezeki thought Kitchi might feel pressured to lie and say he felt the same, fearing that Ezeki would deny him food otherwise. He would never do that, of course, but for someone who had as much experience with hunger as Kitchi did, it might not be a risk he wanted to take. It was a situation he hated even the thought of putting Kitchi in.

Stuck without an opportunity for recourse, Ezeki made himself accept the fact that he would never admit his emotions. Simply knowing Kitchi at all was still something he was fortunate for.

Instead, Kitchi was the first to confess.

He’d been unusually talkative that night, but Ezeki had thought he heard a worried undertone to his voice.

“I need to say something important,” Kitchi had initiated after a bout of silence, confirming Ezeki’s suspicions.

“Is everything alright?” he’d asked in response.

“Better than that, I got adopted.”

“That’s amazing news! Who to?” Ezeki asked excitedly, a feeling of relief washing over him.

“Joshua and Tessa, the older couple. Turns out someone did own that cellar,” he responded with a strained smile. “I have made sure they are trustworthy, but that’s not my point.”

“If not that, then what is?” Ezeki returned with a hint of concern. Kitchi sighed.

“That happened fourteen nights ago,” he shyly confessed. “They are kind and have plenty to provide for me. I haven’t needed to come here since; I’ve just been stealing your time and bread.”

Ezeki gave an apologetic smile and reached a paw towards Kitchi, trying to calm him.

“Never think like that, Kitchi,” he assured. “Talking to you is something I look forward to, and certainly nobody else was going to put these leftovers to good use. You can keep coming here every night as long as you’d like, or we can meet somewhere else if you prefer.”

“That’s what I wanted to say,” Kitchi interrupted. “I didn’t want to say I was adopted because I liked meeting you every night and talking, even if I wasn’t hungry. I used to think it was just because we are friends, but now I know I was wrong.”

Kitchi stopped to draw a deep breath. Ezeki’s heart raced, but he forced himself to stay silent.

“I really like you, Ezeki. I want to be closer than friends. I know that’s not normal, so if you don’t-”

“I feel the same,” Ezeki interrupted, his paws shaking. “I have for a long time.”

Ezeki still remembered how he felt as Kitchi slid off the counter and embraced him. The memory of that warmth sent a tingle down his spine in the present.

From that night on, Kitchi had been far more open during their time together. They’d spend their time together side by side, holding each other close over mugs of tea. He recalled when he’d surprised Kitchi with their first kiss as he moved to leave one night. In his mind, he could still see the map to his bedroom window he’d scrawled on the back of an old menu that – fittingly, Ezeki mused – was fated to be thrown away soon.

He shook his head strongly, and reality began to gently wash over him, bringing him back to the present.

With a smile, he turned back to the note on the table. He knew just what he wanted to write now, and he eagerly sat down to make the note.

* * *

Kitchi shifted into shadow under the darkness of the rising moon and slipped into the propped-open window of the pantry. As he reformed himself, he felt the cold, still air in the room. Ezeki was nowhere to be seen or heard.

Sadness and worry almost consumed him, but Ezeki’s absence reminded him of a conversation they once had. Curious, he carefully climbed atop the counter and checked the top shelf of the cupboard where Ezeki used to hide stale bread.

A small brown packet lay atop a folded note, the sweet aroma of his favorite tea leaves emanating from it. He smiled and took both, unfolding the note as he steps back to the ground. The handwriting was Ezeki’s.

_I am busy away from work tonight, helping my parents on an errand. I hope you enjoy some reminiscence on our time together as I did this morning. I like being more than friends with you._

_Always yours,  
Your “secret” admirer_

Kitchi smiled and moved back to the window. He set the note and the tea leaves on the ground just outside the window and slipped back out. _  
_


	2. Present

With a huff, Ezeki opened the door to the café and stepped inside. A bell chimed above his left ear as he shoved the door open.

The interior decoration was quaint and conservative. A few atmospheric paintings hung on the right wall, and the left was barren besides a deep-brown wallpaper. A window on the same wall as the door gave a view of the clean and ornate capital district of the Cage. Gaudy-looking offices and living spaces could be seen across the street, populated by meandering individuals in simple clothing. Quiet chatter and the smell of warm drinks filled the room with a relieving feeling of solace.

“Welcome to Whistle Café,” a young Lysca greeted from behind the counter as the door shut, ringing the bell on the doorframe once more. Ezeki walked up to him with a polite smile and a nod.

“Well met,” He returned as he stopped. “Two green teas, please, and that’ll be all.”

“Your total is six.”

Ezeki counted the gold out from his coat, setting it on the counter and taking the numbered placard that the Lysca handed over in return. Ezeki waved and turned back towards the rest of the café.

Most of the tables and booths were empty. The largest party size was three, and the conversations at each table were slow and hushed. Ezeki’s eyes jumped from chair to chair until they fell upon Desmond, sitting in the booth furthest from the door. His static face was turned toward the window.

Ezeki weaved his way through the café, careful not to bump into any occupied chairs, and slid into the booth opposite him.

Desmond didn’t move. After a silent moment of patience, Ezeki slammed his placard on the table and cleared his throat superfluously.

“How was your morning?” Ezeki asked caustically as Desmond – and most of the café’s customers – flicked their heads towards him.

“I came here, like you sent for,” Desmond responded, his eyes wide.

“Did you even notice I came in?” Ezeki returned almost instantly, his voice settling back into its normal volume.

“I don’t know.”

Ezeki paused.

After a beat, he sighed, giving an apologetic frown.

“You have a lot on your mind, don’t you?” he asked, a hint of warmth in his cynical tone.

“Do you have our next case?”

“Well, yes, but I’d like to talk about something else for the better part of an evening,” Ezeki reassured him. “I know I live a little lavishly, but I don’t burn so much gold that I’m in any hurry to get more.”

“What, other than cases, do we have to speak of?” Desmond pressured in a chilly voice, tilting his head and giving Ezeki an accusatory look.

Ezeki nodded his head from side to side, a perplexed look on his face. He rested his snout on his paw for a moment, looking out the window. The cold radiating through it tickled his nose.

“Do you have a favorite food?” he asked, bringing his head back up.

Desmond frowned.

“That would be childish.”

“Would it?” Ezeki asked after a beat. “I like cornbread, myself. There was this classy restaurant in Arcadia that had a spectacular house special of it. I’d learn to cook just to have it again, if I could get my hands on the recipe.”

Ezeki laughed lightly, his face settling into a smile. Desmond made no attempt to respond, blinking blankly at him.

“Well, you must’ve eaten something you liked,” Ezeki prompted. “Or hated. Or felt some memorable shade of amicability towards.”

“I suppose so,” Desmond agreed. “I didn’t have the most varied cuisine. I recall I didn’t like beets, last I tried them.”

“See? That’s a start,” Ezeki congratulated with a grin. “I agree, and frankly, I think liking beets is valid grounds for arrest.”

Desmond seemed almost to stifle a smile, though Ezeki couldn’t be sure.

“You don’t need to be so serious all the time.” Ezeki continued. “You can let go. I swear, it’s safe.”

“I refuse to apologize for not taking your words at face value,” Desmond shot back with a narrow glare. “Doing so has cost me so much already.”

Ezeki winced, tapping his paw on the table anxiously.

“You’re right, I apologize. Here – if it were up to you, what would we talk about?”

Desmond opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“Not about cases, I presume?”

“Yes,” Ezeki said with a curt sigh. “Just for one night. All I want is a day off.”

Desmond looked down at the table in thought. He glanced out the window for a moment before meeting Ezeki’s gaze again.

“You mentioned you spent time in Arcadia,” he began. “Do you travel often?”

“I’m always travelling,” Ezeki agreed, nodding. “The Great Flame makes for a demanding employer. I follow the cases. Not that I mind it – getting to see the world is a welcome perk, and the Flame covers decent hotels.”

Desmond nodded slowly.

“What’s it like out there?” he quietly asked.

“Outside the Cage?” Ezeki added with a smile. “It’s not as different as you may guess. Travelling sure takes longer, but anything you can find inside the cage, you can count on finding outside, and vice versa.”

Desmond’s eyes tilted downwards towards his paws again.

“What’s wrong?” Ezeki inquired, trying to read his face.

“It’s all the same outside?”

“Oh, I- I hadn’t meant it like that, I’m sorry,” Ezeki stammered apologetically, gesturing his paws towards Desmond pleadingly. “I swear, it’s beautiful, and so much bigger – look, just don’t listen to my ramblings about it, alright? You’ll get to see it yourself; I’ll make sure of it.”

Desmond’s brows furrowed. He looked up at Ezeki, skepticism in his eyes.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

“I’ll buy your way out.”

“Isn’t that prohibitively expensive?”

“I’m an expensive individual.”

Ezeki smirked as Desmond fell silent. He spotted a server approaching their booth out of the corner of his eye and sat up to make space on the table.

“Do you like tea?” he asked. “I ordered us both a mug of green.”

“I’ve never tried any,” Desmond answered plainly. Ezeki’s eyes opened wide as he recoiled into his seat in shock.

“Well, I… think you should try it,” Ezeki continued after recovering from his surprise. The server set a warm mug in front of him.

“Is that all that’s in these?” Desmond asked curiously. “Tea?”

“Yes, what were you – oh, Lord no, Desmond” Ezeki refused, disgust and bewilderment in his voice. He gave Desmond a stern look. “Just because your parents were criminals doesn’t mean I’ll be one on your behalf. That’s bad for you anyway, especially someone your age.”

Desmond frowned slightly with disappointment.

A mug was placed in front of Desmond, and he gazed into it, his snout hovering just above the surface of the liquid. He looked into his reflection’s eyes while Ezeki handed back his placard and thanked the server.

“Well, it’s plenty cool,” Ezeki stated, snapping Desmond out of his thoughts. “Try it at your leisure,” he prompted as he drunk from his own mug.

Slowly, Desmond wrapped his paws around the sides of the mug, drew it to his snout, closed his eyes, and took a short sip. A colorful blend of warm tastes filled his senses.

“I can understand your enjoyment,” Desmond agreed as he set the mug back onto the table, a considerate expression on his face. Ezeki looked pleased.

“And how does it make you feel?”

Desmond hesitated for the moment. He gave Ezeki a questioning look, hoping for elaboration, but all he got was a smile and a vague gesture.

“Warm,” he answered cautiously.

“It is rather warm,” Ezeki agreed in a considerate tone, “but I was asking in a more emotional sense. Many believe tea has calming properties, and I think this café has a good brew.”

Desmond tilted his head in thought. He drew a few long breaths before answering, each heavy with the drink’s strong aroma.

“I feel still.”

“Still is a good start, but it is considerably different from calm. Do you want to be still right now?” Ezeki asked.

“I don’t think so,” Desmond answered, clearly struggling

“That’s understandable,” Ezeki said cheerfully. “Relaxing takes a little getting used to, especially after spending so much time with restlessness.”

“Why are you analyzing me like this?” he asked back, sounding offended. Ezeki took a deep breath.

“I doubt your parents ever taught you how to deal with emotions,” Ezeki explained, “and I believe it’s an essential skill.”

Desmond simply stared in response, taking quiet sips from his tea. Ezeki finished his mug, setting it down on the table and sighing contentedly.

“Is there anything else we needed to speak of, besides cases?” Desmond asked judgmentally as he got to the bottom of his drink.

“For now, unless you had any more questions for me,” Ezeki answered.

Desmond took one more sip and set his mug in the center of the table.

“Then rest well,” he finished with a nod, sliding out of the booth and moving to stand up.

“Desmond, wait.”

He turned his head to see Ezeki reaching a paw towards him, a serious look on his face.

“I just want you to know that I want to help you, OK?”

Desmond narrowed his eyes towards Ezeki. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he turned and walked away from the table, leaving silently.

Ezeki gave a long sigh and let his head hang low, closing his eyes. Most other customers had since left. The cold once only radiating from the window now began to creep into his fur. His mug empty, Ezeki set a few pieces of gold on the table, stood up, and left the café.


End file.
